I Think a Lot
I do. I am sitting in my room right now. It's a mess. The bowl of cereal I ate is on my dresser, along with ramen cups, pain medicine, gift cards unused, some poptart crumbs, and my journal of thoughts. If you ask me, I'll tell you what's in my journal. I'm sitting on my bed trying to think.
Thinking is a good hobby for me. It's low stimulus as far as sound and motion go. However, it's stimulating for me. I can think so big yet be so small. I like to just lay in bed and reflect on things. Yet, as of now, my ability to think has been jeopardized by this strange headache I've had for weeks. I'm used to migraines, but this is a new feeling. I feel like a zombie, but perhaps that's depression. I feel like I'm not here, but maybe that's disassociation. I change my thoughts like I change the radio station, grabbing at the hope that maybe one of these stations, these thoughts, will bring me back to the path I was on before I started feeling this way. When I think of him, I feel more focused and even better. It's like mini yanks from a leash guiding me back to the sidewalk after I've stumbled onto the grass. I hope I feel better. I'd hate to die this way; thoughtless. Yet, maybe no thinking is good for once. As I type this, I'm free typing, which allows me to just get out all this babbling. I don't care if it makes any sense. Okay, I care a little. Yet, for once, I'm so neutral that whatever happens, it just all feels fated. Which in turn, makes everything seem meaningless. My thoughts are so perplexing, so strange. He's the only one who could understand them, untwist them, and set me right. I hope I can get better and think clearly again.
Thinking is a good hobby for me. It's low stimulus as far as sound and motion go. However, it's stimulating for me. I can think so big yet be so small. I like to just lay in bed and reflect on things. Yet, as of now, my ability to think has been jeopardized by this strange headache I've had for weeks. I'm used to migraines, but this is a new feeling. I feel like a zombie, but perhaps that's depression. I feel like I'm not here, but maybe that's disassociation. I change my thoughts like I change the radio station, grabbing at the hope that maybe one of these stations, these thoughts, will bring me back to the path I was on before I started feeling this way. When I think of him, I feel more focused and even better. It's like mini yanks from a leash guiding me back to the sidewalk after I've stumbled onto the grass. I hope I feel better. I'd hate to die this way; thoughtless. Yet, maybe no thinking is good for once. As I type this, I'm free typing, which allows me to just get out all this babbling. I don't care if it makes any sense. Okay, I care a little. Yet, for once, I'm so neutral that whatever happens, it just all feels fated. Which in turn, makes everything seem meaningless. My thoughts are so perplexing, so strange. He's the only one who could understand them, untwist them, and set me right. I hope I can get better and think clearly again.
26-30, F
